by Lynn Ascrizzi

Smucker Harness is stitching its way to success by focusing on the carriage-driving market.

The pocket-sized community of Churchtown, Pennsylvania (pop. 484), is one of those places you might drive right by, in a wink. But there, set along Route 23, amid a smattering of local businesses, vintage and modern homes and picturesque farmland, is the neat-as-a-pin, busy workshop that is Smucker Harness Co.

The small business, which produces first-rate, custom-hand built, equestrian show and pleasure harness, is owned and operated by skilled leatherworker Daniel M. Smucker. His 3,000-square-foot workshop is situated on the first floor of a three-story, metal-roofed building. “We’re just outside of Narvon,” he said, of the much larger community that is also part of Lancaster County’s celebrated Amish country.

Smucker, 35, bought the small family business from his parents, Moses and Susie Smucker, in 2008. “It shows I could stand on my own,” he said, of the purchase he made when in his 20s. The business site “was originally a barn, but my dad converted the timber-frame building into a workshop. Most of the tools were purchased from Dad, when I purchased the building.”

The year that he shouldered the family enterprise also marked the beginning of the Great Recession. “We downsized pretty majorly. We started specializing in certain products. We decided to focus on carriage show harness and higher-end products,” he said.

Read more: A Niche in Time - Smucker Harness

by Nick Pernokas

The 16-year-old bronc rider limped to the fence. He exited the arena and headed over to the stripping chute, loosening his borrowed chaps as he walked. He collected his bareback rigging and returned the “community” chaps to his friend who was about to ride. He reflected on how much simpler life would be if he had his own pair. “I was ate up with wanting to rodeo,” remembers Joey Jemison.

Joey Jemison and his friends were familiar faces around the stockyards and they had endlessly studied the gear that shops like Fincher’s, Ryon’s, Leddy’s and L. White’s displayed. They knew that L. White Saddlery had the coolest chaps if you were a young rough stock rider.

The reason was that L. White’s had a talented young saddle maker, Jim Plant, working for them. Jim had also ridden rough stock, steer wrestled and roped. He had taken Joey under his wing, coaching him on all the rodeo events and encouraging him to enter all of the events at the high school rodeos.

In 1971, Joey was in his junior year in high school and needed to find a job that he could work two days a week to satisfy his “distributive education” requirements. He decided that he could kill two birds with one stone if he was able to get a job at L. White’s. At the very least he could probably work off a pair of chaps, and get to hang out with Jim.

Read more: Joey Jemison and the Legacy of the Fort Worth Cutting Saddle

by Lynn Ascrizzi

Virtually every day of the week, and even on Saturdays, you’ll find bootmaker Lee Miller leaning over a busy workbench in his Austin shop, Texas Traditions. He might be shaping toe boxes with a file, setting up lasts, sewing heel seats, drawing patterns or working at one of the hundreds of other operations that go into building custom cowboy boots.

Or, he might be coaching an apprentice on how to complete yet another intricate step in the craft, just the way he was once trained by legendary, fifth-generation boot master Charlie Dunn (1898 – 1993).

In 1977, when Miller first walked into Dunn’s workshop, what followed was a formative and turbulent, nine-year apprenticeship with the feisty, Texas bootmaker. Dunn was 79, at the time. Today, 41 years later, Miller is faithfully carrying forward his mentor’s legacy, and in that same location. Yet, he’s not one to put on airs, nor does he enjoy being called, as he has by some, “the greatest living bootmaker.”

“Well, I don’t pay attention to that. I consider myself a journeyman. I don’t call myself a master,” he said. “This is a journey I am on. I don’t think you ever master it. It’s just a title. It means you’ve been doing it a long time. Anybody who knows how to make shoes or boots knows there are different levels of ability. I don’t consider myself the greatest bootmaker in the world. I love what I do and always try to do better work.”

Read more: Austin Artisan, Custom Cowboy Bootmaker Lee Miller